


Flight Cycle 2

by rubygirl29



Series: Flight Cycle [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29





	Flight Cycle 2

**Falling**

“Don't do this. It's impossible.”

Those words stayed in Ronon's mind even as he sat on an examination table in sick bay enduring both Carson Beckett's medical examination and diatribe on his dislocated shoulder. He didn't notice the pain – not much – since he kept hearing McKay's plea to Sheppard, which had hurt far worse than any wound. He'd seen the look on McKay's face; the naked fear which, for once, wasn't for his own life, but for John's. Even Lorne's stoicism had nearly crumbled at that impending loss. Ronon wondered what they had seen in his eyes – he knew he had screwed it up – but he couldn't say what he wanted to say; his own agonized plea of, “Don't do this. Don't leave me. Don't die. Teyla wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself like this.” Instead he had said, “You owe me a fight to the death.” What kind of friend said that?

“Ow!” The stab of pain yanked him out of his emotional misery straight into his physical discomfort.

“Sorry, lad. I'm done. You're all bound up nice and secure.” Carson Beckett guided Ronon's arm through the sling. “I don't know what you were thinkin' to reduce it the way you did.”

“Done it before,” Ronon growled, annoyed that he was being lectured by Beckett and that Sheppard had provided the story. “Back when it was either do it myself or wait for the wraith to find me helpless.”

“Aye, maybe then you did what had to be done.” Carson met his glare fearlessly. “But there's no need for that now, is there? You have people who care about you. You have me – a physician. No more self-doctoring, do ye hear me?” Carson's distress came through in his brogue as he continued his instructions. “No sparring, no shooting, no Satedan bantos fighting until I clear you or there could be irreparable damage to the joint.” When Ronon rolled his eyes, Beckett jabbed him in the biceps, making him wince. “Lad, I'm serious. Now I have two other patients to look in on, including Colonel Sheppard.”

“How's he doing?” Ronon asked, trying to be off-handed, trying not to look like it was the most important thing in the world to him.

“A few bumps and bruises. Truly, the angels were watching over him today.”

“Angels?”

“Aye ...” Carson suddenly realized that angels were outside Ronon's frame of reference. “Some religions on earth believe that there are good spirits who watch over us from birth to death. We call them angels.”

Ronon nodded, though he didn't quite understand. He had been raised to believe in the protection of the gods, but after years of torture and loneliness, he wasn't so sure about their existence on any world or in any faith. The will of the gods seemed to be a puny justification for what he had endured and witnessed in running.

“Can I see Sheppard?”

“I'm right here.” John shoved the curtain aside. He was wearing his usual BDUs, and although he had a fresh bruise on his face and some scrapes on his arms, he was in one piece and looked pretty satisfied with himself. “How're you doin', Chewie?”

“Good.”

Sheppard's eyes went to Beckett. “Doc?”

“Aside from his shoulder, he sustained some deep bruises and a few pulled muscles. I'll send you the medical report. Needless to say he'll be on very limited duty for two weeks or so and restricted to less strenuous physical activity for up to a month, pending an evaluation of his his recovery.” Beckett was in his element, sounding very much the doctor, as if that would impress on Sheppard the seriousness of Ronon's condition.

“M'fine.”

“Aye, you will be if you follow my orders. I'm going to check on Teyla.” He gave Ronon another hard look. “You can go about your merry way, lad. Just remember what I said.”

“He will, Doc. I'll keep an eye on him.” Sheppard waited until Beckett left the treatment area, then came closer. “You okay?”

Ronon knew he was flushing under that focused, concerned study. “Yeah. Let's get outta here.” He reached for his gun, but couldn't buckle the belt. He felt vulnerable without it. Right now, vulnerable was the last thing he wanted to be. He slid off the bed and walked out of the infirmary. He knew Sheppard was keeping pace, but he didn't look at him.

“You want dinner? I'll buy.”

Food was free, but it was one of those Earth expressions. It meant Sheppard wanted company.

“Not hungry.”

Sheppard took hold of his uninjured arm. “Do you need to go back to sick bay?”

“No. I'm tired. And everything hurts.” It was all he said as they made the turn towards his quarters. He moved his hand in front of the lock and the door opened. For a moment, they stood there in awkward silence. “See you.”

Sheppard frowned at him. “Are we okay? I mean you've been kind of ... off ... since we got back from the planet.”

“I told you. I'm tired and I hurt. I want to lie down.” Sheppard ignored the irritation in his voice and followed him inside before he could activate the door. He sat on the bed, aching and not knowing what to do next. He was cold and he didn't know why. He felt like he was falling to pieces.

Sheppard stood there with his hands on his narrow hips, looking slightly worried. He went to the cabinet where Ronon kept his clothes and took out a loose long-sleeved tunic. “C'mon. You can't wear those scrubs 24/7. This okay?”

“Yeah. I can do it.” He reached for the tunic.

“How?” Sheppard asked, one brow askew. “Don't be an ass.”

Ronon wanted to object, wanted to say he'd rather be alone in his misery, but a shiver worked its way down his spine and he surrendered. John gently disengaged his arm from the sling and slid the thin scrub top over his hair, maneuvering it carefully down his arm. His fingers traced warmth wherever they touched. Sensations overwhelmed Ronon; the slight scrape of a rough callous over his shoulder blade, the clean smell of skin and soap, the moist breath that brushed his cheek when John bent closer. He'd tucked the tunic against his body as he helped Ronon and the fabric now held his heat and scent. It reminded Ronon that Sheppard would be alive at least for another day.

Ronon gave up the fight. He slid his good arm around Sheppard's waist, needing the solidity of his physical closeness. He sighed, leaned his head against John's firm abs. He felt the strong heartbeat beneath his cheek and the warmth of his fingers as they curved sweetly over the back of his neck. He was helpless. He wanted more even as his abused muscles burned with pain.

Sheppard held him briefly before he pulled away. “Beckett gave me some pain pills. He thinks you won't take them if I don't order you to. They'll help you relax, sleep.” He poured water into a glass and held out two small blue pills. “So take these. That's an order.”

Ronon held the pills in his palm, but made no move to swallow them. There was something he wanted to say, and if he didn't speak now, he might not say it at all. Tomorrow, he'd be less vulnerable. Tomorrow, he might believe he could survive without Sheppard.

“I thought I was watching you die,” he said.

It took a moment for Sheppard to answer. Ronon didn't look at him, though, and missed the myriad of emotions that chased across John's face at that admission. Ronon did hear the sharp draw of his breath before he spoke. “Now you know how I felt when I thought you were being surrendered to the wraith.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That's not the point.”

“McKay said it was impossible.”

“You know Rodney. Impossible is just a word.” He ran a hand over his spiky hair, disturbing it further. “Look, Ronon. It comes down to this. I didn't trust your skills to keep you alive and you didn't trust my judgement as a pilot. Maybe it was a rookie mistake, but without trust, this thing ... us ... won't work.”

“Do you want it to work?”

“Hell, yeah! You know I do. But we have to be willing to accept that chances are pretty damn good that we won't make it out of here alive. It goes with the territory. I can be your lover and I can be your leader, but I can't be both at the same time. The leader will always win. It's the way I am.”

Ronon wanted to say that he would follow John to his death if he had to, but those were words to use when, or if, the time came. They didn't belong here, in this quiet room, with John standing in front of him, his hazel eyes lit with passion, sadness, and something that made Ronon's chest hurt. He gripped John's forearm and pulled him down to the bed.  
Sheppard yielded. He sat next to Ronon, his hands doing something magic to the hard muscles in his uninjured shoulder. The pain in his back and neck eased as the tension slowly drained away.

“Take the pills,” John whispered, his breath warming Ronon's ear. “That's an order.” But he softened the words with a kiss.

Ronon, for once, didn't verge on mutiny. He took the pills and tilted over. He usually slept on his stomach and always kept his weapon hand free. Even in the relative safety of Atlantis, old habits stayed with him. He tensed again, trying to push himself back upright.

“Whoa, buddy. You're down for the count, here.”

“My gun.”

Sheppard reached for it and set it next to the pillow. “Don't go shooting yourself with it when you roll over,” he said.

“It's on low stun.” He heard Sheppard try to smother a laugh with a cough. “Not funny.”

“I know.” Sheppard was suddenly serious. “Move over.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” Ronon did, and felt Sheppard's body curl against his back. A surprisingly gentle hand stroked his arm and wrapped around his chest. John moved his dreads aside and kissed his shoulder.

“Better?” he whispered.

It wasn't just better. It was the best. Ronon nodded. He yawned, sighed. Settled a bit more against John's body. There was a coil of arousal in his belly, but he was too exhausted for it to go anywhere. It was just a comfort to be this close to Sheppard, to know he had his back. To know that he could sleep, really sleep, because John was there.

He felt Sheppard take a breath. “What I said about fighting you to the death ...”

“Yeah?”

“I couldn't do it. I won't fight you to the death, but I will fight for you and with you to my last breath.”

It sounded like a vow. “Same.” He barely got the word out over the lump in his throat. He pulled John closer, held his palm against his heart. His last thought before oblivion was that he could fall and be safe for the first time in his life.

 **The End**


End file.
